In his fear and confusion, Kyle had tried to run to his grandfather. He was between Allegra and Merrill now, with Perry behind him, clumsily trying to reach down and grab him and stop him.
Easily seen within the circle of firelight now were the smoky gray coats, the red eyes and tongues, and white teeth. There were many wolves, not just one or three or a pack. Dull booms, shots from a big rifle, sounded in the forest ahead. Some people panicked and ran into the darkness of the woods; others screamed at them to come back. Some fell, shrieking, to their knees.
One of the big males, a pack leader, suddenly turned and watched Kyle, the smallest and slowest of the prey. He padded toward him, not running, but slinking, his teeth bared and ears flat. Kyle saw him and stopped, his eyes round and unseeing as if he were hypnotized. The wolf lowered his haunches, and they quivered for the spring.
Perry miraculously moved fast. He grabbed a long branch out of the fire and jumped in front of Kyle, directly in the wolf ’s path.
The wolf leaped, and he and Perry went down together in a heap of fur and teeth and fire. Perry screamed, a terrible sound, but he was fighting. Merrill stopped and had his gun out, aimed, steady and sure, but there was no way he could hit the wolf and not hit Perry.
Allegra ran by the furious tangle on the ground, and she could already see the black-red of blood and smell the burning. Something brushed her leg as she passed the boy and the wolf, but she couldn’t look, couldn’t help, and couldn’t bear to see. She scooped Kyle up in her arms and kept running.
Riley loomed in front of her, and she ran full speed into him.
The force of their collision and the hardness of his body almost knocked her down. He didn’t speak. He grabbed her arm, whirled her around, and took her back to the fire.
Riley ran to Perry. Allegra pulled Kyle’s face tight against her shoulder. Riley lifted his rifle and brought the stock down on the wolf ’s back in a crashing blow. The wolf jumped, yelped, and threw itself backward off Perry.
But it didn’t run. It snarled, holding its ground, staring up at Riley as if it were sizing up its new opponent. Riley pressed his rifle to his shoulder, and the wolf leaped into the sheltering forest. Riley shot once, but the wolf melted into the depths.
As if by some signal or infernal dark magic, all of the wolves disappeared.
Allegra felt as if she were wading in some deep, sticky substance that slowed her footsteps and made them unsure. She had to go to Perry, though. He lay on the ground, still, his face a chalk-white moon, holding his hand to his chest. There was a lot of blood. In the fury of the fight it had splashed all around.
Riley shoved his rifle into Merrill’s hands, then knelt. “Let’s have a look at that hand, Perry.” He pulled gently, then took a deep breath. “We’ll have to do some patching, but it’ll be all right.”
“It—it will?” He sounded more like a lost, frightened child than a seventeen-year-old boy who’d just valiantly fought a wolf.
Allegra gave Kyle to Genevieve, then knelt down by Perry. He looked up at her, searching her face with desperation. She couldn’t smile, but she tried to make her voice as calm and reassuring as possible. “We’ll take care of you, Perry. Don’t you worry about that.”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
They moved him closer to the fire, and Riley brought enough wood to keep it burning high. Allegra was glad for the mineral water, for the hot springs were sterile, and the minerals seemed to have some healing powers. Merrill had a small supply of strong painkillers, so soon Perry’s hurt was numbed, though his fear was not. Allegra washed his mangled hand—she could see the bone in one place—and spoke softly to him of trivial and light things. She bandaged it as carefully and meticulously as if she were performing neurosurgery. Then she sat with him, holding his good hand.
In a dreamy voice, he asked, “Am I going to be all right?” His voice was weak, a little thick from the drugs, but the fear lurking in his eyes told Allegra everything.
“You’re going to be all right, Perry,” she said quietly. “You’ll heal. You may have some scars, but they will be your badge of honor. You have great courage, Perry. I can never thank you enough for my son’s life.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, almost pleading. “Just—talk to me, please.”
He was deathly afraid.
“I’ll read to you. Would you like that?” she asked.
“The Bible, please,” he said numbly.
“May I use your Bible? It’s so nice to have such a big Bible, with such big print, to read by firelight,” she said, pulling it from his pack onto her lap. It was a huge display Bible, with dozens of prints of old paintings and with Gothic curlicues in the margins. It was marked and had notes all over it, and the spine and back were held together by sticky duct tape. Many of the crackling yellowed pages were held together by Scotch tape.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he said dully. “It’s all I have of hers.”
Allegra read, mostly Psalms. Perry slept after a while. She stayed by his side, reading to herself, watching him, praying a little, sometimes weeping. He clung to her hand, and through the night, he cried, a small child’s whimper. Allegra finally pulled him up to hold him close, and she held him until dawn.
“He’s not going to make it,” Allegra said bitterly. Her voice was cold and edged with resentment. She looked over with despair in her eyes to where Perry lay—too still—under extra blankets.
Merrill huddled down over the fire, clasping his knees. He was weary to the bone. He and Riley and two of the other men had carried Perry in a stretcher made from saplings and blankets. He was so tired, he could only murmur helplessly, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad. It’s killing him.”
Riley stood up, holding his rifle at the ready, ever the vigilante. But his eyes were clouded with weariness and perhaps sorrow, though it was difficult to tell. His voice and his will seemed strong and invulnerable. “There was something odd about that wolf. There was something odd about the whole thing—the stalk, the attack, the way they left. And that boy doesn’t have gangrene. That wound shouldn’t be life-threatening. Makes me sick.” With that, possibly his longest speech to date, he turned and stalked off into the woods.
They were all sick at heart. Perry Hammett was dying.
Tears stung Allegra’s eyes, and she felt hot traces down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” Kyle pleaded, but tears were in his eyes, too. “Don’t cry, Mama. Don’t cry.”
She held him close, so hard that she knew he could barely breathe. “I’ll try, baby bear. Why don’t you get all your blankets and Benny and go over there with your grandmother and ask her to tell you a story?”
“I want to stay wif Perry. And you. I promise to go to sleep.” His eyes were enormous and pleaded eloquently.
“All right, little bear,” she relented. She had, after all, been staying with Perry for the last two nights. Kyle needed her, too. “Get all your blankets and your cap, okay? And go right to sleep.”
The night was long, and Allegra was exhausted, so she dozed. Perry never moved or spoke. Occasionally Allegra jerked awake and leaned down to make sure he was still breathing. Already his face was sunken; the outline of his skull, hidden until now by the richness of youth, could be clearly discerned.
Allegra thought she heard someone—she didn’t know who— shout her name. She came awake with a start and knew that the imperious call had been in her dreams. Riley Case was there, sitting cross-legged on the other side of Perry’s bedroll. She sat up and rubbed at her gritty eyes with her palms.
“Go back to sleep,” Riley said quietly. “You can’t stay awake forever.”
At that moment Perry said in a faint but clear voice, “Allegra— Miss Allegra?”
“Yes, Perry, I’m here.” Quickly Allegra bent over and put her hand on Perry’s forehead. It was cold and clammy. Trembling, she slipped her hand beneath his ugly green sweater and laid it over his heart. She could feel nothing. The heartbeat wa
s so faint, it was imperceptible.
“Miss Allegra . . . you know . . . that scripture you were reading to me?” His eyes were only half-opened and were dull, as if the light of life had already been put out.
“Which one, Perry?”
He licked his lips and said laboriously, “About the seeds . . . planted. Some of them the ravens ate . . . some of them were choked out by thorns . . .”
“Why, yes,” Allegra said quietly. “The parable of the sower.”
“I—I was just wondering,” he whispered, “if I’m like the seed that fell by the wayside and got trodden down, and the ravens devoured it . . .”
Allegra swallowed hard, for she had a burning in her throat that seared all the way down to her chest. “No, Perry,” she said firmly. “You are the good seed that fell on good ground, which has an honest and good heart. Because of you, my son lives. What more precious fruit could be borne?”
He looked dimly surprised, then nodded. If he’d had the strength, perhaps he might have smiled, but he could only close his eyes with exhaustion. “I wanted to go see that light, Miss Allegra . . . and I thought I wouldn’t get to . . . but now I think I’ll see it . . . before all of you. But you’ll make it . . . you’ll see it . . . I see it now . . .”
The death was so quiet and simple that it was impossible for Allegra to tell when he slipped from this world into the next.
Riley Case dug his grave, and Pastor Ty Colfax spoke. He was a still-faced man of thirty-five, coldly handsome. His eyes were not the warm blue found in many people in the South, but were sharp and rather calculating. Not a tall man, Colfax kept his trim body as straight as any West Point cadet’s—perhaps in an attempt to add an extra inch to his stature. His voice was clear, but there was little warmth in it, though it was obvious that he worked at adding the quality.
Galatia Colfax, eight years younger than her husband, was one of those women who fought the constant battle against aging, and she had already had several corrective surgeries. Her dark brown eyes clashed with her platinum blonde hair, and her expression always revealed a touch of unhappiness that she could not hide with cosmetics or surgery. Without all of her facials and hormones and correctives, she was looking rough from the hardships of the past few weeks. Her expression, too, had grown uglier. Right now she was staring at Allegra Saylor with what Galatia truly believed to be righteous anger but was actually nothing more noble than petty envy. Even in her grief, Allegra looked lovely.
Allegra realized that she was not paying attention to Ty Colfax’s words. She knew only that she was cold and Kyle was crying, and she was conscious of the weight of Perry’s Bible as she held it close to her breast. Galatia said that it would seem more fitting to bury it with Perry, but Allegra lashed out, “My son will have this Bible, and his son, and his son’s son. By this Bible, they will know God, and they will honor Perry’s memory.”
Galatia flinched as if Allegra had struck her, but she said nothing else.
That night, Ty Colfax called the group together. Allegra was surprised to see Riley leaning against a tree, outside the circle of people as always, but attentive. Usually when the group came together for a discussion, he melted into the woods.
“We have had a death, a tragic and senseless death,” Ty said mournfully. “I believe we must face the grim reality that we’ve made a terrible mistake. The night of the blackout, we were all confused and panicked and filled with fear. We saw—something— and it gave us hope. But we must reason together. By now, I’m certain that the authorities have recovered order in Hot Springs.
Perhaps the power is back on. It’s time to return.”
Low murmurs of assent ran like the sea’s undertow throughout the group. A few sidelong glances were cast in Merrill Stanton’s direction. He, Genevieve, and Allegra sat close together. The discussion— which generally consisted of how quickly they could leave—grew more lively, and still Merrill said nothing. Ty and Galatia Colfax didn’t take their eyes off them, though, and finally Ty cleared his throat. Everyone quieted down. “Mr. Stanton? May I ask your intentions?”
“Certainly,” Merrill said calmly. “My family and I are going on.”
“But why?” Ty demanded.
“For the same reason we began this journey. We believe that the Lord is leading us to a place, and He has shown us the way. We believe that we are following Him.”
“But we’ve had Perry’s death and the constant threat of wild animal attacks. And most important, there is no signal fire!” Ty blustered on. “I’m beginning to have my doubts that there ever was one! It’s a proven fact, you know, that people in traumatic situations can have mass delusions, hysterical hallucinations!”
Merrill asked in his kindly way, “And, Pastor Colfax, you honestly believe that is the truth?”
“I—I don’t know! I’m—that’s what I’m saying! We don’t know the truth!”
Sadly Merrill said, “But we do, Pastor. We always have. We are
His sheep, and we know His voice. My family and I are going on with Him.”
Ty Colfax’s mouth tightened, and he nodded curtly. “I see. You are free to make your own choice, of course. But I must warn you, Mr. Stanton, not to try to convince any of these poor people to follow you. I believe you are terribly wrong and you will pay a high price for your blindness.”
Allegra jerked and rose halfway to her feet, her face filled with anger. Genevieve put her hand on her daughter’s arm and yanked hard. “Sit down, Allegra. He is still a man of God, and it’s not our place to correct him.”
“But I can’t stand to sit here—”
“Please, Allegra,” Merrill said softly.
Allegra sat down, but she crossed her arms and stared mutinously at Ty. Ty didn’t meet her eyes, but Galatia shot her a savage grimace.
Ty turned to face Riley Case. “What about you, Mr. Case? You don’t seem to be the type of man to go on a blind and hopeless quest.”
One of Riley’s black eyebrows arched up. “You mean I’m not a man of faith? Like you?”
Galatia cried, “Faith has nothing to do with this! We’ve all decided—except for them—that this aimless wandering in the wilderness was a dangerous and stupid thing to do! God expects us to use our common sense! And, Mr. Case, we need your help. Much more than they do! If they’re determined to be martyrs, no one can help them anyway!”
Riley replied evenly, “Mrs. Colfax, I hate to disabuse you of this fine notion you’ve got that I’m the world’s baby-sitter, but I’ve got to. I’m not going on so that I can help the Saylors and the Stantons. I’m going to find that signal fire.” He added with extra emphasis, his dark eyes sliding to Ty, “The one that was there, that we all saw and knew and know is real. Anybody that happens to be taking that road, well, I’ll be pleased to travel with him if he wants.
But I’m going on, alone or not.”
“But why?” Galatia demanded in a high, strident voice.
With obvious reluctance he answered, “Because it’s what I want to do. I’ve always hated living in the co-op cities.”
“But why go to that one spot where that stupid fire was? Why not help us get back to Hot Springs and then melt back into the woods?” she pleaded.
Riley, who’d evidently had more than his fill of conversation, set his jaw and shook his head.
Ty finally spoke up again. “Galatia, Mr. Case is obviously not going to help us, so don’t beg. It’s unseemly. The only thing that I must insist upon, Mr. Stanton, Mr. Case, is that you leave us one of your weapons. I can’t allow you to take the only weapons that the group has.”
Riley bristled. “You insist ? You can’t allow?”
Merrill said quietly, “No, Mr. Case, he’s right. I’ll leave you my .357, Brother Colfax.”
Ty’s face lit up like a spoiled child’s at a birthday party. But Riley said brusquely, “No need for that. I’ve got a .22 pistol stashed and a box of shells. That’s it, Mr. Colfax. That’s your deal.”
“With a group this size yo
u should leave us your rifle,” Ty said with a decisive air.
Riley shook his head with exasperation. “Do you know what the killing range of a .30-30 is, Mr. Colfax? No, thought not. It’s about a mile. How many people do you think would have been killed if one of you had been firing this rifle during the wolf attack the other night? And besides, you can’t use this for small game like rabbits or squirrels. There wouldn’t be enough pieces left for a stew.”
“But it would kill wolves,” Galatia insisted.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but in case you’ve forgotten, neither of these guns killed any wolf the other night,” Riley retorted darkly.
“And I don’t know about Mr. Stanton, but I can tell you that I’m a good enough shot that I should have gotten three of them. So just forget shooting wolves. There’s not enough ammo in the state to kill all of them. Your best bet’s going to be fire. Build up two good ones and stay between them.”
Colfax, seeing that this was Riley’s final word, shrugged. “All right. We’ll take the .22.”
Riley nodded and turned away. “At least,” he muttered to himself, “they’ll have to go to some trouble to kill each other with that.”
TWO
CHACO CANYON and some of the bluffs and ravines tracing out in jagged lines from the central community of vast Pueblo Bonito had faint signs of new life. It was not teeming with vitality, but it was not a ten-mile mausoleum any longer.
Horses ranged up and down day and night. Four burros could be seen in a low three-sided canyon boxed in by a rough line of tumbleweed, though they occasionally chewed on their makeshift gate and meandered around. They never went far. A jaguar paced up and down, apparently about her own personal business. An old dingo, whose constant companions appeared to be two domestic brindled cats, ran and roughhoused in the warmth of the early afternoons. Eagles circled overhead constantly.
If one looked very, very closely, one could occasionally see human beings.
Native Americans, it would seem from their cultural history, might form a tribal enclave and live communally in one of the larger, finer centers such as Pueblo Bonito or Casa Rinconada. Cody Bent Knife’s followers, however, had been solitary wanderers in one way or another all their lives, and they were scattered throughout the canyon in single dwellings in voluntary isolation.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 3